True Immortality
by Aoi24
Summary: Immortality comes in many forms. Marco lives a long life in the shadow of those who came before and persist in order to take him as their student before reaching the end of the journey. COMPLETE.


"To be forgotten is worse than death."

Marco has been touched by a kind of immortality. He will live a long, healthy life before dying but he will continue on afterwards in a manner of speaking.

He remembers the words of the second vessel, over eight hundred years ago, and how that cool, composed swordswoman had perfectly summed it up for everyone who came after.

He does not fear death but possesses an ungodly fear of being completely forgotten. It is entirely possible that when he dies there will be no one left to mourn him and he will be completely forgotten.

It is a cruel thought.

* * *

He had been pulled out of the tiny little school because his family had finally reached the point where dirt poor would have been an aspiration for them. They needed every hand they could to earn bread not scribe on a slate in a single room hut. He didn't mind so much. He liked reading but he liked eating more.

Heading to the fields full time was pretty much like his days free from school so it really wasn't that different to him. It was exhausting backbreaking labour but his parents and neighbours all did the same so he didn't actually feel like he could legitimately complain. Especially when it was obvious even to his young eyes that he was fed more than his fair share.

* * *

Marco ate the devil fruit very young. He was hungry and it was food. That was about as far as it went as his reasoning went. He found it washed up on the shore when he was scavenging for shellfish. In his eagerness to claim the fruit he slipped in the rockpools and nearly drowned clutching desperately at the slippery flesh of the fruit. Years later he would consider this to be an appropriate introduction to the cursed fruit.

It was the vilest thing he had ever tasted in his entire life but he still ate every scrap. He licked the juice from his fingers and nibbled on the core. The full feeling in his stomach was well worth it. He didn't even realise that he had eaten a devil fruit. To him, it had just been dinner. A pang of guilt struck him momentarily but he quickly dismissed it. He had spent all living memory with pangs of hunger, it had become instilled into his reflexes.

It was a long time before he realised the true extent of his new abilities…or that he had them at all.

* * *

The first indication was the dreams.

He dreamt of places he had never been before, of fantastic cities and open skies. He felt the warmth of sunlight across his face and then the whisper of wind through his hair.

For someone who had never seen anything outside of the small coastal village it was glorious. Marco slept and dreamt of great cities, ships and constructions beyond his imaginations. There were fantastic beasts, the likes of which he had never conceived, soldiers decked out in gleaming armour and carrying elaborately sewn standards.

* * *

Then he dreamed of dying.

For a month he lay trapped in dreams of death, desperately trying to wake up. He felt the slice of swords in his abdomen, choked on the blood in his throat and worst of all he most frequently experienced the effect of drowning. He could honestly say he knew how it felt to be strangled, beaten, tortured and to fall to disease.

More than any other person in the world Marco knew what drowning felt like. He knew how it felt to struggle in the water both salt and fresh. He knew of the many ways you could fight it and how taking a deep breath should help your buoyancy in the sea but not in fresh water. He also knew how it felt to thrash desperately when someone held your head under. Above all he knew how _easy _it was to drown and how even easier it was to die.

* * *

He woke on a hot afternoon when the sunlight was beginning to fade. The heat was shimmering outside the door and he was coated in a slick layer of sweat. For a single terrifying moment he lay paralyzed thinking he was still trapped in an endless reel of horrible deaths. Then, he exhaled and his vision flickered with blue light and he could move again.

Marco lost a month of his life to the unexplained nightmares. He was deathly afraid but like many in his family, he was a person of priorities. He put his illness down to the fruit he'd eaten and went back to work. He still needed to eat afterall.

* * *

His parents had been nervous at his sudden recovery and he realised that they had genuinely thought their son was going to die. Their pale faces regarded him across the table as if he was some sort of ghost.

"I'm fine." He said "It was…it was just a series of _really _bad dreams. I don't think I'm going to have them anymore."

"Marco, dear…are you quite sure…?" his mother queried (Poor, sweet woman. Her family on the edge of starvation and she still found the time and energy to worry about everyone.)

He paused and stared down at the roughly hewn bowl in his hands. The broth had been watery with hardly and meat or vegetables in it. It had flavour by mien of a nameless bone his older brother had 'acquired' from somewhere.

"I'll be okay now." His grip tightened and he thought he felt a splinter "I've dreamed about just about everything by now. There's nothing left that could frighten me so I don't know how anything could be considered a nightmare."

She wavered but his father waved a hand and shook his head at her. His mother relented and that was an end to that.

* * *

His father was a man made thin by his poverty and strong through his relentless labour. Marco looked up to his quiet father immensely and knew how much the man struggled to feed his small family. He was grateful he had the opportunity to go to the local school, even if it was just for a short while. It wasn't that they understand the need for education but they genuinely could not afford it in a most primitive way.

Marco knew that he quite literally earned what he ate, even if he and his brother seemed to get slightly better portions that their parents.

His father would often look at them in a very sad way and place his hand on Marco's head before murmuring softly to his sons.

"You're really…so very strong. I'm so proud of you both."

He never knew exactly what his father had been referring too until he was a grown man himself. Understanding came then when he finally realised the pain, sorry and world-weariness that had shone through in his eyes. It only made him regret his death all the more.

* * *

The first time he saw one of them was when he was napping on the riverbank after a long day in the fields. A small boy, younger and skinner than him, tugged at his sleeve. Enormous blue eyes in a sunken skull peered down at him.

"Play with me, Oniisan?"

Marco was first startled that there could exist someone skinnier than him. The child was shorter than him, his hair limp and lifeless, limbs skeletal and, most horrifyingly, stomach distended with starvation.

Marco was hungry every day of his life and his first instinct was to grab the child, run home and give him whatever meagre dinner they had been able to scrounge together.

However the child had held his arm in a terribly strong grip and stared at him levelly.

"I'm not hungry Oniisan. I haven't been hungry in a very long time. What I want, is for you to play with me."

Marco had been raised with the superstition of those who couldn't afford scepticism. Believing the child to be a vengeful ghost of some description he agreed and they splashed together in the shallow creek and the blonde child noted that the mud was difficult to move through. His feet felt heavy and slow to respond.

* * *

At nine years of age Marco was remarkably accepting of his new situation. He would have been forgiving for going mad but he didn't. He nodded and moved on because he worried about practical things like if they would have enough food to survive the winter, not the fact that he was seeing apparitions.

Taro had been the first. His situation had been remarkably similar to his own. The only son of a poor fisherman his family had been dirt poor and despite their best efforts they hadn't succeeded in surviving. His father had been killed by a sea king and his family starved to death not long after.

Taro had been the last and endured watching his family slowly die until he was alone to die in a shack of festering corpses kept alive by a power he hadn't realised that he'd received.

Marco should have been horrified at that if not for the fact he had seen and heard similar things before. Taro didn't exactly want anything either. In fact, if he hadn't been _dead_ they probably would have been great friends. (What with their poverty and hunger to bond over.)

"You're very accepting about this Marco-niisan." Taro said after about a week or so.

"If I go mad it'll be on _my _terms. I'd starve if I had any sort of slavering breakdown. We're treading a fine line anyway with me spending a month trapped in an unending reel of nightmares."

He continued with his chore, ignoring the piercing blue eyes focused on the small of his back.

"You'll be okay I think. But it'll take someone who knows a lot better than I ever did. I died too soon."

Marco turns to ask what he is talking about but Taro is gone. For a moment he thought he saw a wisp of something blue but it is gone before he can look twice. He never actually sees Taro again but comes to understand his life much better in later days.

* * *

It is a few weeks before he sees someone else. He is foraging for edible plants on the far side of the island and has made his way up the cliff with some vague notion of clambering down the face in order to rob some eggs.

The woman is beautiful he thinks, she is dressed far more exotically than anyone he was ever seen with layers of embroidered cloth cleverly folded and multiple embossed chains, belts and decorations across her clothing. She is a princess, a priestess, a woman of wealth and standing. His breath catches as she leans down, kisses his forehead, smiles cruelly and throws him off the cliff.

For a moment there is nothing but terror then he is overcome with rage at that _damn bitch _and a crazy desire to live at any cost. Then there is fire and change and it feels so natural, so _right_ that he does not question it, merely leans into it, accepting it and _flies_.

Marco flies upwards, terrifying the nesting gulls and lands back on the clifftop. He attempts to punch her and ends up flat on his face when he passes straight through her. He curses and rather than try again he curses her out but he's ten years old and doesn't know anything really good as far as insults go and most of his creative stuff involves starvation and the woman is dead so it won't exactly bother her.

* * *

Marco doesn't like Saint Clair much. She's very pretty and well dressed but she's also very snobby, rude and not a very good person. She does however explain a lot of things to him.

_Devil Fruit._ He'd heard of them of course but he'd never imagined ever seeing one in his life, never mind _eating one_. On reflection, perhaps eating the vile fruit hadn't been such a good idea.

Every time he has a chance he makes the journey and dives head first off the cliff top. He masters complete transformation and flight immediately. Saint Clair is enormously amused by this but she never says why. She tells him stories of her life and the places she's been. He has never heard of most of them and he's positive that some of these kingdoms no longer exist. She also has a tendency to rant violently at length upon her enemies whom he has never heard of but he listens anyway because it is something exotic in its' foreignness.

* * *

There is a symbol she wears on a sash. He doesn't know what it is but for some reason he's afraid to ask. It evokes a great sadness in him and his chest aches with grief. He has no idea why and he keeps it to himself completely. Especially when she starts to talk about the servants (_slaves_) that used to serve her back when she was alive.

The last time he sees her he asks how she died. Her face tightens and she spits multiple curses at his feet. She shrieks about injustice and faithless men before snarling that she died bringing '_his son_' into the world. Her smile is all cruel madness, her beauty crumbling like a powdered mask, as she gloats upon punishing some nameless man by killing her own child as her last act in the living world.

Marco walks home and realises that he really knows nothing about the world. He hopes never to see Saint Clair again. She frightens him in a very deep way.

* * *

He doesn't see anyone for a while. Marco is quite glad and doesn't pretend to miss them.

Taro was pity, sadness and an all too sharp awareness that he could have ended up just like him. Saint Clair, he is perfectly convinced, was some kind of beautiful monster. He wonders if his strange madness will drive him to end his own life. After some thought, it is decided that it is possible but depends on what sort of people appear before him.

He doesn't tell his parents or brother about his ability. He does however, sneak off and go fishing. Like where his brother obtains hanks of meat from time to time they do not question where or how he manages to obtain them, merely appreciate and eat them.

His father gives him a steady look but nods and doesn't question him because he trusts his sons. He never lectured them on the morals of stealing but he did teach them to beware the consequences of their actions. He does not consider stealing to be high on the list of crimes monitored by the law enforcement.

* * *

"When you're dead, you're dead. There's nothing you can do anymore. Stealing a few handfuls of food because you're starving isn't a crime, it's a cry for help and a shout that you are trying to survive."

His mother nodded as she cooked the fish he had brought back. "I know people who starved because of their morals." She tutted and shook her head "That's all well and good but you shouldn't die for no good reason."

They all sat down to their small meal and his parents gave both of them a serious look.

"If I had to," his mother said "I would steal to feed us. I wouldn't do it because I was greedy, I'd do it because we're hungry and I don't want to starve to death."

His father took the bowl she passed him.

"As long as your reasons are like that I think it's fine. Motivation is important. Survival over greed and you're on strong moral ground no matter what others may say."

The fish is delicious.

* * *

It is several months before he sees anyone else. He is grateful and hungry above all so it is mostly a return to the usual state of affairs.

He uses his new phoenix form to discretely hunt and brings home more meat than before. They are slightly better off but it goes unsaid that if he stopped there would be less and more hunger. It is hard to catch good game. The animals reflect the state of the island. They are thin and gamey but it is meat and they savour every mouthful.

It is early one morning when he sees the next person. Looking back, Marco will always consider it to be one of the most momentous meetings in his life and along with his father and Whitebeard one of the three men who had the most influence on his life.

* * *

He is crawling on his belly through the dust (like a snake he laughs) while he searches for tracks when he sees him.

In the clearing ahead there is a man sitting against a tree. He is seated comfortably against the broadest tree there and is clad in sandals and a foreign robe. It is similar but oh-so-different to the opulence of Saint Clair. While her robes were elaborately embroidered and layered with precious materials and gems his are plain white cotton with a small blue edge that looks as if it was sewn in from an extra piece of material. The robe has a partial hood that shades him from the sun but has a gap at the back to allow wind to reach his neck and his long braid to escape from the confines of the material. The one piece of outright decoration he sports is a gold belt made of interlocked squares with plain spheres embedded in each square. He smokes a long black pipe with silver coloured pieces. Marco has a good feeling that it is not actually silver but some more serviceable metal.

"You could show Saint Clair how it's done." is his opening gambit and he worries that they might be friends. They're clearly allies but you never know…

The man exhales and sends a long stream of smoke into the air before laughing. "That woman was always an ostentatious bitch."

Marco smiles and he catches a glimmer of white teeth beneath the cowl.

"My name is Kamui. It's a pleasure to meet you Marco the Phoenix."

* * *

Marco hero-worships Kamui. The older man is calm and self-assured. He thinks things through and, much like Marco's father, often lectures him on the consequences of his actions. He's also incredibly strong.

Learning to fight is a painful endeavour and his new mentor often looks at the underfed child with regret but nonetheless he teaches him. Marco is barely educated but he is an intelligent child, enough to appreciate that he is getting quality instruction from a master of hand to hand combat.

It's not long before Marco could take on anyone on his island and come out on top. A regenerative devil fruit power does tend to help with that. But is knows that out in the 'real world' his meagre power means nothing. Master Kamui has an innate gift for the martial arts, one that Marco does not possess and his death…was truly horrific.

* * *

The best thing Kamui ever does for Marco though, is to merely _talk_ to him. It gives him an education that would not have been possible in other circumstances.

Marco learns of the world outside his home. Of storms and sails, governmental powers and kings, strength and ambition. Kamui fell to a haki user that wielded swords before both of them were executed as they lay dying in dust and rubble. Marco is resolved to master the use of this. He has never thought beyond ensuring there is enough food for the following day but it during these days that he acknowledges his survival instinct.

It burns bright and for the first time Marco actively realises that more than anything in the world, what he wants to is to keep on _living_.

* * *

When Marco is eleven things change.

No matter how logically he looks at things he still feels a pang of guilt and regrets but he knows that if he had been there he would have tried to fight and if he had tried to fight he would have died and then he'd be appearing to whoever ate the fruit next.

It was his birthday so he was relieved from farm duties for the day. He climbed to the cliff and lay down in the grass. Kamui was there and fulfilled a promise to answer specific questions as a birthday gift.

"What does that symbol mean?" Marco points to the sash that hangs from the waist of his master. It is the same symbol as worn by Saint Clair except that it is simply depicted, blue on white cotton.

Kamui exhales and sighs sadly but acquiesces nonetheless. "It is the hoof of the soaring sky dragon, the mark of my people."

Marco stiffens and fails to hide it. He's heard of he Tenryubito and their cruel ways but says nothing and indicates that he should go on.

"We believed that all life on the earth was created when the celestial dragon descended from the stars and breathed life into the world. It represents the value and precious nature of life and how we should be thankful for each day."

"Is that true?"

"It was when I was alive at any rate. We believed that when we died we were taken up to the stars to stand before the celestial dragon who shall decide out faith."

"I think, that things have changed a great deal from your day master."

Kamui does not say anything but he does look immeasurably sad. Marco thinks about the fever dreams he endured, the visitations from previous wielders of the power and is struck with a sense of melancholy. It seems strange to him that every single story is nothing but sadness and wonders if one day his spectre will haunt some youth and tell them about his ignominous death.

The air is warm and the wind soothing. He gently drifts off and dreams of open skies.

* * *

He awakes to the smell of smoke.

When he returns to the village there is nothing there.

Pirates had been there but unfortunately for them there is practically nothing of worth on this island. So they took out their rage on the inhabitants. Marco lived very close to the coastline, it is unsurprising that his family ended up in the line of fire.

Their small house (_hovel_) is burned down and the corpses of his parents are lying outside. His father died first, it seemed he tried to give his wife some time. She was shot in the back. Marco was just grateful they hadn't done anything else. His brother was on the road (_dirt track_) a little way off. He can't identify him by his facial features, his skull has been crushed.

He drags the corpses together and builds a small pyre. He just can't bring himself to bury them in the ground. He uses his powers and burns the corpses until there is nothing left.

He scavenges what he can and steals a boat. He has no more ties to this famine-stricken land anymore. Age eleven, he sets off to find a new home.

Once the island is out of sight he breaks. He vomits into the ocean until there is no bile left in his body before curling up on the floor and sobbing. He thinks he imagines a touch on his shoulder but he only cries harder.

* * *

After two days he is sick with grief and exhausted to his very core. He has no idea what to do. He wants to survive but he has no ambition, no direction. He wants to direct his anger at the pirates but he just can't summon the energy. He wants to direct his anger at the marines but he can't do that either.

All he can do is mourn so that is all that he does.

He grieves alone for his kind mother who would always slip her sons some of her portion, his beaten down father who slaved to the bone to feed his family and his only brother that carried secrets in order to bring home some extra food to his family.

He sits in the small boat and stares across at Kamui and wishes he could legitimately blame the man when he knows he is only tied to him and cannot touch or move anything but him but couldn't have woken him anyway.

Kamui exhales and slowly twirls his pipe in his hand. "Would you like to know how my family died?"

Marco doesn't but he listens anyway. Hearing stories about others who suffered worse than he has should make him feel better.

It doesn't.

* * *

Eventually, on the urging of Kamui, he transforms and flies to another island.

He robs a cart and several stalls to get something to eat. Food is everywhere. People are throwing half eaten meals into the trash without any hesitation. It makes him sick and Marco is not too proud to pick up their cast offs.

He still wants to survive even without any purpose.

Kamui still appears before him but he sees others now too. Taro and Saint Clair haven't appeared and for that he's grateful.

Other spectres of times gone by appear to him and tell him of their life. On one hand he is grateful that he is not alone but on the other he worries that he is starting to go mad.

He is grateful for Freya. Like Kamui, she has a certain practicality to her words. She is a brunette with piercing blue eyes and dresses like a man. She was a master swordswoman, the greatest in the world. She died when someone stabbed her in the spine for petty reasons.

She speaks flatly and honest to him and he enjoys her company. She helps him understand their appearances and it helps him cope.

"It's all a memory." She explains as she sits cross-legged across from him "The Phoenix in myth would never die. It would just regenerate its' body from time to time but it would never actually die."

"I always thought Phoenixes had scarlet and gold flame."

"So did I. We must be wrong though."

Marco sighs and rubs his chest "So when I ate the devil fruit, I…'inherited' all of the memories of the 'phoenix'."

"Pretty much. We're not trapped souls or anything else, merely the imprint from the times when we had the skies."

The blonde boy still looked troubled and she regarded him with amusement for a few moments.

"Hey Marco, do you know why I ate the Devil Fruit?"

His eyes flicked to hers and she smiled, not unkindly.

"It was because I was hungry."

Marco smiled.

* * *

Marco wanders.

He flies from island to island and explores what he finds. He gains weight, muscle and gets healthier all round. He is initially surprised by the change but realises that it is a result of his newly changed eating habits. Marco doesn't complain. He likes to eat.

He doesn't interact with people much in these days. He wants to be alone far from people who would judge him or offer him sympathy. What he wants (_needs_) more than anything else is to mourn.

He visits ancient ruins and lands long abandoned by their forebears guided by the people of memories imprinted upon the devil fruit. He hears the histories of rubble from the lips of those who saw it fall.

Kamui still appears to him as do many others.

When he is twelve Freya stops appearing to him. He accepts it and moves on, he knows by now how it works. Kamui is the only person that gives repeat performances. Marco looses count of the people that appear before him. He remembers everything about them (_unable to forget_) even though they never reappear once they have imparted all there is to know.

When he reaches fifteen he realises with a jolt that he has seen no one other than Kamui for six months. He heads to a heavily populated island and decided that it is high time he rejoins society.

The tale blonde teenager strolls towards the town and never notices Kamui standing behind him. The spectre watches his back disappear as he chews on his pipe. He smiles and then he is gone. Marco never sees him again.

* * *

One skill that Edward Newgate had that people did not seem to realise he had was to spot talent.

He sees the boy (_no, more a man than most his age_) on the street and while there are many things that strike him about him (_moves like a fighter, assessing gaze that takes everything in, calm demeanor_) what the first thing he would say about him would be that he is clearly a person who is completely on his owm.

Whitebeard invites him to join his crew and gets a sceptical look.

"I'm not really interested in pillaging poor people who are just trying to make ends meet."

"Gurararara. Neither am I! Join me on the seas and fight other pirates with nakama. People who have chosen to put their lives on the line. Take my name upon your back and be a son of mine."

A bemused expression, wistful then challenging.

"Alright then, show me your world and we'll see if it can measure up, eh? I'm" who was he now? He had almost forgotten "Marco."

* * *

When Marco was a child, the only thoughts he had were to his family surviving to the next day. It amused him endlessly that he had come full circle even if the circumstances were better.

Years he had been with the Whitebeard pirates and not once had he seen one vesper from the devil fruit. Neither Kamui nor any of the others had appeared to him since that day he had decided to end his selfish isolation and join the world at large.

He decided that he didn't need them anymore. He was now capable of standing on his own two feet. People relied on him now. That was, he thought, the reason they no longer appeared. They had nothing more to show him.

He had his suspicions about Kamui and debated it down to two choices. Either he was the one he needed the most or he was the first and thus had the strongest marker.

* * *

They visited his home island once. It was still abandoned, no one had come to live on it since the pirates had razed the town. Greenery had sprung up in the collapsed houses.

Thatch and Vista had followed him in his exploration as others set up the barbecue on the other side of the island.

Thatch, ever cheerful, had a terminal case of foot in mouth disease.

"Woah, these houses must have been pretty bad. Look at this one, it couldn't have been more than a hovel! Who'd live there?"

"I did."

Thatch blanched "Erh, I mean. What a charming rustic atmosphere."

"We lived on the brink of starvation."

"No wonder you're so appreciative of food."

"Thatch, you're standing in the spot where I cremated my mother."

The pirate yelped and jumped backwards.

"And that's where I cremated my father."

Thatch flailed and ran back to the side of Vista who was laughing hysterically.

"You trampled my brother in your cowardice. Thanks a lot."

"You're just being a dick now aren't you?" Thatch huffed.

Marco grinned. "Pretty much." Then he started to laugh.

* * *

When he looked at Ace, he saw a lot of himself.

Granted he had a much better relationship with his father and the male role models in his life but he could see what the boy craved.

He was lonely in a way. He craved acceptance of other, living people. It was for the same reason that Marco abandoned the wilds and sought out civilisation.

He spooned a serving of stew into a bowl and sauntered off to search for him. Some people needed a push.

* * *

When Ace died his first thought had been something like 'ohgodnowhy' which was an appropriate reaction and one shared by many others in that moment.

It was made worse when the Captain went the same way and for a single horrifying moment Marco thought he was eleven years old again and dragging the butchered bodies of his family together so he could burn them.

When they were fleeing the scene later on he had hysterically wondered if he would appear and tell this story to the next one to eat the devil fruit.

* * *

Marco doesn't die. He lives because in the end he has the strongest survival instinct out of anyone. It's so powerful that he barely realises it, it's pure instinct.

He lives and he dies when he's old and sits down for an afternoon nap.

He dies and that's the end of his life but it's been a good one.

* * *

The child is malnourished and dirty. Enormous green eyes stare at him as the half eaten fruit rolls to a stop at his feet.

Her cheekbones stick out and he idly wonders if he was thinner. Grasping the fruit he squats down and places it in her hands.

"Hey." He murmurs "you were hungry, eh?"

She stares at him in astonishment and he grins. Just a reflection of a real one because he is the memory carried by the phoenix zoan onto the next carrier.

"Tastes like shit" she mumbles before proceeding to devour the whole thing and lick her fingers clean.

Marco grins, he likes her already.


End file.
